


Cruciamentum

by dsa_archivist, EA Karras (Anne)



Category: due South
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Series: Mountie Slayer, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-04-15
Updated: 2000-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-10 19:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11133276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anne/pseuds/EA%20Karras
Summary: Fraser and Tom are tested, with Ray and Calhoun as bait.This story is a sequel toAdam.





	Cruciamentum

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).
    
    
    Title: "Cruciamentum" 
    Author: EA Karras and Magnes
    Rating: A very strong R
    Codes: H/C, slaying, death, sex, pain, angst, fighting, possible nudity,
    cannibalism, poisoning, hysteria and giant bewinged things. Warnings:
    Cruciamentum means /torture/, so...y'know, don't expect happy fluffy
    people. Disclaimers: DS belongs to Alliance. The Cruciamentum and the
    basic gist of the Watcher's Council belongs to Mutant Enemy. 
    
    ---- 
    
    Tom stared into the clear baggie full of guppies and goldfish and shook
    his head as he tried not to pick out which one he wanted to eat first.
    "You're losing it. That's gross..." He sighed, stopping in the street
    only when he heard a crunch behind him. He looked up.  The street looked
    empty, but he knew he was being watched. 
    
    "James?" He looked behind him, hoping to see the vampire. What he got
    instead was two Repulsor demons. Great. He dropped the baggie, going
    for the stake hidden in his jacket.  "Oh good. And I thought I might
    be able to get home without getting into a fight for once. Silly me."
    
    "Dead you." One Repulsor nodded behind Tom.  He looked over his shoulder.
    A Chaos and two Enthos.  "Very dead you." 
    
    They went at him at once, and he fought back the only way he knew, as
    he had fought all his adult life: hard. Almost before he knew what happened,
    the two Repulsors were taken out with a stake through the heart. The
    Chaos went down quickly, grossly outmatched in a fight of this nature.
    
    Then the Enthos. They put up a nice fight.  Instinct drove him to blind
    them, then kill them so swiftly he was killing the second before the
    first hit the pavement. He was shaking badly when it happened, the demons
    had gotten in some good swipes and he was spattered with their blue blood.
    What would James say?. 
    
    He felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled around, lashing out with the
    stake. Not thinking. The other man stared back at him, wide eyed. Tom
    stared back. "Oh God...." He looked down. Human blood. Red blood. Human.
    Oh no. "No..." 
    
    *** 
    
    "Willis? Willis, answer me. What...." The two watchers in the van heard
    their companion scream and looked at each other. 
    
    Their leader nodded. "Go. Get him now. Bring him in."  
    
    "What about Willis?" 
    
    "He's dead." 
        
    *** 
    
    He was staring down at the body, unable to look away.  Murder.  He had
    murdered a man. There was blood on his hands, cool in the breeze.  He
    had murdered a man.  An innocent man.  He wanted to faint, wished he
    could faint.  He wanted to run to James, but he couldn't move.  He was
    shocked when he heard the screech of a van pulling up. He felt hands
    grab him by the arms and he struggled. "No...who..." 
    
    He cried out as a needle dug into his arm. Drugs. No. The thing in him
    squirmed, rebelling against his body. "Stop...please..." 
    
    Restraints were placed around his arms, his legs.  Helpless, he was lifted
    into the van.  He heard the doors close, felt his body shift as the vehicle
    sped off.  Then nothing. 
    
    *** 
    
    "Something's happened to him." 
    
    "Whose 'him'?" wondered Ray Kowalski, looking up from where he was feeding
    Tom's son liquified steak. 
    
    "My him. Why?  Where's Fraser?" 
    
    "Ah, he took Dief walkies.  Hey, Aja!  Slow down!  The food's not going
    anywhere." 
    
    Calhoun paused in his pacing long enough to touch the baby's cheek. 
    "He's growing so quickly." 
    
    "He keeps eating like this and he'll be bigger than Turnbull." 
    
    The vampire Elder looked as if he were a million miles away as he looked
    at the dark-haired infant.  "I don't think I ever thanked you or your
    Mounted Slayer for giving me your trust, Prince Kowalski." 
    
    "I didn't give you anything you didn't earn, Calhoun.  Want to feed him?
    You and me seem to be his favorites lately." 
    
    "I think I'll go see if I can find Tom  He was going to get some fish
    for dinner.  If I find him, I think I'll go hunting.  I'm pretty hungry
    myself." 
    
    "Be careful." 
    
    *** 
    
    It was the body he saw first. From down the block he'd thought it to
    be Tom, what with the bag of fish beside it. Until he got near it. The
    smell was wrong. He could smell Tom on the body, however. His fear. His
    shock.  Demonic blood and human blood.  Nothing that was a mix of the
    two, so Tom wasn't injured.  At least, not as far as he could tell. 
    
    There was a stake in the heart of the body. 
    
    But he was human. 
    
    He could smell something else too. Drugs. Maybe muscle relaxants. He
    peered at tire marks on the street. Someone had done a grab and run.
    
    Tom. 
        
    He jumped at a sudden pain in his arm. He looked down, pulling a tranq
    dart out.  He looked up, eyes meeting the man who had shot him. The black-dressed
    man stood in an alley across the street. Calhoun could feel an odd numbness
    spreading through his body.  Fury swept over him. He would not be taken
    so easily.  There was a heavy price levelled on the person that wanted
    to harm him or the people in his life.  
    
    In the blink of an eye the Sabbat Elder was across the street and yanking
    the gun out of the man's hands. He twisted the rifle, feeling metal and
    wood break beneath his hands.  Then he seized the startle man.  Well,
    he was hungry... 
    
    Another dart, this one in the shoulder.  He dropped the body.  How many
    of them were there?  He had to get away.  Capture was clearly their intent
    and they already had Tom.  Where was Fraser?  Were they after the Slayer,
    too?  What of the prince and his lord?  Damn! 
    
    Who were these people? Agents of Lilith? Inquisitors?
        
    He staggered at more painful needles.  
    
    One of his attackers made the mistake of moving.  Calhoun saw him and
    crossed the street again, his movements too quick to be tracked by human
    eyes.  He snapped the man's neck with one blow.  Another man tried to
    grab him from behind.  Calhoun threw him into the wall with bone-snapping
    force. 
    
    Too many.  He was weak.  Slow.  His legs felt like lead.  He'd never
    felt this way, even when he'd been alive.  Another tranquilizer dart
    hit him, this time in the throat.  He felt someone trying to lift him,
    thought he heard his name being called.  Then the world tilted, darkening.
    
    He fell. 
        
    And fell hard. 
    
    *** 
    
    Dief was busy looking in the window of a deli when Fraser finally caught
    up with him.  He laughed a bit, knowing full well what was constantly
    on the werewolf's mind. 
    
    "No, Dief, Ray is making dinner tonight.  No snacks." 
    
    With a small whine the werewolf trotted ahead again, then stopped.  When
    Fraser looked next, the child was gone, replaced by an Arctic wolf. 
    He stood at the corner of their street, bristling threateningly. 
    
    "Oh, dear!  Dief!" 
    
    He sprinted foreward, rounded the corner - 
    
    "Jamey!" 
    
    The vampire was being attacked from all sides. 
    
    Without hesitation, Fraser ran forward, yanking the first man he encountered
    off of the Sabbat.  They weren't expecting to be attacked from the rear.
    He shoved another man away, grabbing Calhoun by the leather jacket he
    always wore, trying vainly to haul his dead weight upright.  He could
    hear Diefenbaker harrying the other men, giving him a few precious seconds...
    
    Calhoun was senseless.  Fraser felt something burning and sharp slam
    into his shoulder.  His hold slipped.  Calhoun fell from his grasp even
    as the pavement rushed up and he fell atop the vampire.  He knew nothing
    more. 
    
    *** 
    
    Dinner was ready, the baby was fed and asleep.  Ray Kowalski paced the
    apartment nervously.  Late.  They were all too late.  Tom and Fraser
    he could see running into some kind of trouble, but Calhoun?  Mr. Unstoppable?
    Never. 
    
    He jumped at a scratch at the door.  Looking out the peep hole, he couldn't
    see anything, but the noise persisted until he opened the door a crack.
    
    "Dief!" 
    
    The werewolf was crawling.  God, he was hurt! 
    
    "Oh, my god!  Dief!  Come on, boy!  Oh, god, what the hell happened?"
    
    He carried the werewolf into the living room and laid him on the couch.
    Someone had seen fit to beat him.  A child.  Oh, god... 
    
    Footsteps in the hall.  Ray ran for his gun and snatched it out of the
    nightstand even as the front door was kicked in.  He saw black figures,
    six at least, pour into the room.  He opened fire, cursed when he wasted
    two shots before he realised they had vests on. Aja was wailing in his
    crib as Ray switched to head shots.  
    
    One of the men dropped before an air-gun was levelled at him.  He got
    off one more round, catching the shooter in the arm, before the dart
    slammed into his stomach.  As he doubled over slightly, they rushed him.
    They weren't gentle as he was seized, his gun yanked from his hands.
    Dief growled, trying to come to his aid.  Ray screamed as one of the
    men slapped the little boy down. 
    
    /Dief...Aja.../ 
    
    Sirens.  Someone had called the police at hearing the shots. 
    
    /Help.../ 
        
    *** 
    
    "What's the casualty list?" 
    
    "Five dead, four in the hospital with one critical, the remaining six
    have assorted lighter wounds." 
    
    "A bit worse than I anticipated.  I want to remove it before we start.
    I don't want to risk damaging the Wyrm child." Tom heard, unable to open
    his eyes. He felt another prick at his arm and flinched. 
    
    The drug only took a few seconds to work. It traced a path through his
    system, a strange heat that centered in his mid section, rousing the
    demon growing within him.  He squirmed on the gurney, suddenly very aware
    of the intense discomfort from the child he was carrying. Like it was
    lightly clawing at him. No amount of comforting words he thought at it
    calmed the child. 
    
    He gritted his teeth as the pain got worse. He felt a hand on his forehead.
    It was too warm to be James.  "Help me...please..." 
    
    "Quiet, Slayer." 
    
    He let out a gasp of pain as the thing clawed hard, trying to dig it's
    way out of him. His gasps turned into full fledged screams soon enough.
    The restraints held him on the gurney as his body thrashed. He screamed
    again, tossing his head back and forth in agony. 
    
    The watcher above him smiled. 
    
    He shuddered in pain, pulling at the restraints at his wrists. They started
    to give. "Hold him! Hold him down!" 
    
    Hands were all over him, holding him. He felt tearing in his stomach,
    the pouch opening. He screamed again, feeling blood flow, wishing James
    were here. James would stop this. 
    
    He struggled in the grasp of his captors, feeling the child finally free
    it's self. It struggled to fly....Fly? Oh. God.... 
    
    He screamed louder.
    
    *** 
    
    He could hear distant screaming and instinctively knew it was Tom. He
    felt woozy and sick, and was sure Fraser felt the same way. The Prince
    was still unconscious, collapsed near the wall of the darkened cell.
    He buried his head in his hands, unable to stand his own helplessness.
    Beside him, he heard Fraser stir. 
    
    "What're they doing to him?" He whispered to Fraser. He didn't like the
    look on the Slayer's face. "Fraser?" 
    
    "I don't know. I wager they're removing the child..." They looked up
    as the screams stopped abruptly. Calhoun managed to sit up.  What the
    hell had they hit him with?  He didn't know of anything that could do
    this to a vampire.  There came the sound of low talking, and the door
    to the row of cells opened. 
    
    Sudden light revealed a veritable plethora of demons in each of the cells.
    Some were drugged, the ones that weren't looked very ticked off.  Closest
    to the door, Calhoun looked up.  It was a prison.  Literally.  Rows upon
    rows of cells, reaching up three levels that he could see from this angle.
    
    "Where are we?" whispered Fraser. 
    
    Fear, something Calhoun had not felt in a while, twisted within him.
    "Hell," he replied, recognizing the place. 
        
    Calhoun stood as Tom was half carried, half walked onto the floor below
    by uniformed men. Blood stained the oversized sweatshirt he was wearing.
    His other shirt must've been rendered irreparable. That wasn't what he
    was wearing before. Except the pants. Those were quite obviously Tom's.
    Only Tom would have pants that tacky. 
    
    /I love a man with no taste.  What does that say about me?/ 
     
    Tom looked completely out of it. Weak and miserable, he lifted his eyes
    unerringly to where Calhoun pressed against the bars of his cell.  Three
    more guards were removing a circular panel from the floor.  His pained
    brown eyes met James' ice blue ones as he was dragged towards the hole
    by the burly men holding him upright.  
    "No," begged Calhoun in a whisper. 
    
    He slid to his knees as the psychic was tossed in. "Oh dear..."  Fraser
    muttered. 
    
    "What? What's going on?"  Calhoun could feel fury banishing the effects
    of the tranquilizers. 
    
    "I believe he's being tested." 
     
    "Tested?" 
    
    "I'll be next." 
     
    "But why? Why should he be tested?"
    
    Fraser looked up. "He's a slayer."
       
    *** 
    
    Turnbull looked up from locking his apartment door. A watcher was behind
    him. "You'll have to come with me, sir." 
    
    "Is there a problem?" He smiled his blandest smile, knowing first hand
    how ruthless they could be.  He knew he was trapped. 
    
    The watcher nodded. "We're doing the Cruciamentum. You'll have to come
    with us." 
    
    "On whom is it being done?" 
    
    "I can't tell you that." 
    
    "Who is conducting it?" 
    
    "I can't tell you that." 
    
    "Where are we going?" 
    
    "Hell." 
        
    *** 
     
    When Ray Kowalski roused, Fraser was gone. 
    
    Calhoun had not been easily persuaded to back down.  Not until one of
    the guards had levelled a rifle at Kowalski's head and threatened to
    shoot his prince.  Even so, he may not have given up if Fraser hadn't
    willingly gone with the men. 
    
    He woke up feeling ill beyond words.  He lacked Calhoun's and Fraser's
    body mass and fat and the tranquilizer had been absorbed faster and lingered
    longer. He woke abruptly and moved too soon, lifting his head with a
    strangled cry of, "Aja!" 
    
    "Prince Kowalski!"  Calhoun knelt beside the detective. "Don't try to
    move yet." 
    
    Ray seized his arm. "Dief.  They hurt Dief.  Where the hell are we?"
    
    "Hell." 
    
    "Oh, hell." 
    
    Calhoun looked up as the door to the cell opened. a tranq gun was lowered
    at him. "You'll have to come with us, Mr. Calhoun." 
    
    ***
    
    Tom woke up instantly when the demon hit the floor in front of him. A
    Rathler. He stumbled to his feet, shakily, and fended off it's attack.
    Still woozy, it took him longer than usual to dispatch the demon. 
    
    *** 
    
    Calhoun stared at the TV monitor, shaking. Their kidnappers had chained
    him to a chair, and he was watching Tom gracelessly and wearily fight
    off the third demon they'd thrown at him. 
    
    He was having trouble believing Fraser's story about Tom being a slayer.
    
    Then they dropped in the fourth demon. A Chaos. All slime and antlers.
    And Tom flew into gear. He fought hard, and fast, grabbing the discarded
    arm of an Rathler. 
    
    He was sure his jaw was touching the floor.  Demon after demon, vampires,
    a werewolf, all of them fell before the killing machine that was Tom
    Grissom.  Blood splashed in pools on the floor, dying screams from the
    demons and cries of exertion from Tom filled the room.  Almost an hour
    passed, then the Chief Watcher deigned to look at the Sabbat elder. 
    
    "Do you know why you're here?" 
    
    "To answer pointless questions." 
    
    "Do not mock me and mine, Sabbat. The one you've taken for a lover is
    a Slayer born.  The one Prince Kowalski loves is a Slayer bred. Both
    are to be tested." 
    
    "What for?" 
    
    "We wish to determine if one is controllable and if the other is truly
    loyal.  We have our doubts." 
    
    "You've got twisted minds is what you've got." 
    
    "Return him to the cell.  Let him wonder." 
    
    *** 
    
    Kowalski was huddled on the floor in the corner, his arms wrapped tight
    around his middle.  He seemed to be having trouble breathing and Calhoun
    realised they had taken away his glasses.  He was completely blind. 
    
    Shoved into the cell, Calhoun knew from his first incarceration here
    he could not bend the bars, try as he might.  Rather than wasting his
    energy, he looked to his prince instead. The detective was trembling
    wildly, sweaty despite the cold, and Calhoun wondered if he could be
    sick.  Or having a flash. 
    
    That was all they needed. 
    
    "Kowalski?  You okay?" 
    
    Ray shook his head.  "Can't-breath.  Can't-" 
    
    "The tranq?  Are you hurt?" 
    
    He shook his head wildly, his eyes tightly closed.  "Walls-too close.
    Too close.  I can't-breath." 
    
    "You're claustrophobic." 
    
    He nodded, clearly struggling for control. 
    
    "Does keeping your eyes closed help?" 
    
    "Little." 
    
    "Cold?" 
    
    "Yeah." 
    
    Without a word, Calhoun stripped off his leather jacket and handed it
    to Kowalski, helping him put it on.  He was swimming in it. 
    
    "Where did they take you?" asked Ray, fighting to keep from hyperventilating.
    
    "They showed me Tom.  He's in an arena slaying demons. Fraser was taken
    away earlier.  He's also getting tested." 
    
    Breathed Kowalski, "Oh, god..." 
    
    "They said Tom was born a Slayer, Fraser was bred one." 
    
    "What about us?" 
    
    "I've got a nasty suspicion why they grabbed me, at least.  I think they
    want Tom to slay me." 
    
    "That would kill him." 
    
    "I know.  But if I fight him, I may kill him and I couldn't go on knowing
    I'd done that." 
    
    Kowalski nodded, squeezing his eyes shut even tighter.  He was on the
    verge of panic, knowing how small the cell was, how close the walls...
    
    "Here." Calhoun sat against the wall, pulling Kowalski against him and
    wrapping his arms around the american to restrain him.  "Just breathe,
    Kowalski.  You can do that much.  There's plenty of air.  Just breathe.
    Keep still." 
    
    "What can we do?" asked Ray after a long time.  He was not entirely comfortable
    with his neck so close to calhoun's fangs, but it was better than his
    phobic stupor. 
    
    "I'm not old enough to take a direct attack from a Slayer." 
    
    "Then how did I kill Aja?" 
    
    "He let you," murmured calhoun, trying not to be distracted by the smell,
    the closeness of Kowalski.  He could not banish the image of what he
    had done to this man in the back room of an abandoned store last winter.
    He could sense the life, the raw power that was Stanley Kowalski.  He
    could also sense the ignorance of his own potential that was such a part
    of his charm. 
    
    "Oh.  How old are you?" 
    
    "I'm one hundred and forty-four." 
    
    "What would it take?" 
    
    "More than I've got." 
    
    "How about what I've got?" 
    
    "What?" 
    
    "Nearest I can figure, I've got more of Caine in me than me.  You, Ellery,
    Lilith, Zuko, and through him Warfield, Sabbat and Gangrel and Bahari
    and god knows what else.  Would Caine's blood help?" 
    
    Calhoun bent his head, realising what Ray was offering.  Blood.  The
    blood of an ancient.  From a ghoulite with a soul.  He felt Kowalski's
    warm neck beneath his lips as he paused to breath in the smell of him.
    Intoxicating.  Different from Tom in so many ways, appealing in his own
    right. 
    
    "Yes," whispered Calhoun, his mind awhirl. 
    
    Ray bent his neck to the side, offering himself to the man that had tried
    more than once to kill him. 
    
    "Jus' don't get crazy like you did with Tom, 'kay?" He grinned, half
    heartedly. 
    
    "I'll try not to let this hurt," he whispered, almost insane with the
    desire to drink the blood just beneath this fair skin. 
    
    Ray felt Calhoun shudder and a burning, sucking sensation on the left
    side of his neck. Calhoun was being gentle this time.  It was nothing
    like the letting.  No wonder Tom hadn't put up a fight... 
    
    All too soon, the contact was over.  Any desire that had been roused
    faded as Calhoun drew away from Kowalski's neck, licking up the few precious
    drops that oozed up from the puncture marks.  Then he sat back, feeling
    the blood flow through his body, renewing and strengthening him.  He
    held Kowalski tighter, wishing he could find the words to thank his prince
    for giving him the strength to protect Tom. 
    
    Such raw power. 
    
    It could destroy him.  It might save him. 
    
    "Thank you..." He whispered, pulling his prince tighter. 
    
    *** 
    
    His head was spinning, but he fought on. And on. He felt like he was
    running on autopilot. And then they dropped in a Moloch. He stared at
    the cat demon, and it stared back. It could smell the Moloch blood in
    him. 
    
    Knew he wouldn't kill his own kind. As one, their eyes met. 
    
    As one, they grinned, and looked towards the ceiling. Tom took a running
    leap at the demon, who grabbed his arms, flinging him up towards the
    ceiling. He kicked out. 
    
    *** 
    
    Calhoun flinched, glancing up as they heard a banging noise. Feet kicking
    hard wood. He watched as four watchers slowly made their way to the hole,
    stun guns out and ready. 
    
    He flinched again as the wood started to splinter. 
    
    *** 
    
    Fraser stood in front of the Watcher's desk, eyes downcast as he tried
    not to listen. "We have brought you hear to update you on the migration
    of a Moloch who has endowed himself with the power to body jump. You
    understand, Constable?" 
    
    "I understand that these sort of tests were deemed archaiac..." 
    
    "Constable, Tom Grissom is of no concern to you. He's a wild card. He
    has to be dealt with. He /killed/ a human yesterday evening. Slayers
    cannot kill humans. It's just not done."  
    
    **** 
    
    "TOM!  WATCH OUT!" 
    
    The stun guns fired in rapid succession. 
    
    **** 
    
    "If Tom slew a human-" 
    
    "Killed, Constable Fraser," corrected the Watcher.  "He killed a human.
    Demons and vampires are slain.  Humans are killed." 
    
    "If he was in Slayer mode, the human was slain.  There's case law in
    Saskatoon to prove as much." 
    
    "We're aware of the law." 
    
    "Then why is this in question?" 
    
    "This is not Canada." 
    
    "The Slayer laws carry over the border." 
    
    "Grissom is not the issue here, Constable Fraser.  /You/ are." 
    
    "Me, sir?" 
    
    "A matter of some very questionable conduct." 
    
    "I don't understand, sir." 
    
    "I know.  That's why you're here." 
    
    "Then why are Elder Calhoun and Detective Kowalski here as well?" 
    
    "You mean the Sabbat and the ghoulite?" 
    
    A chill took Fraser.  The picture was getting clearer with each passing
    moment. 
    
    *** 
    
    "Kill the Moloch.  Don't bring another.  They won't fight their own."
    
    "What about Grissom, sir?" 
    
    "Give him some food and water when he wakes up.  Make sure it's treated.
    Let me know when he's back on his feet." 
    
    "Should we clean up the chamber?" 
    
    "Why?" 
    
    **** 
    
    "Why am I here?" 
    
    The Watcher, one he didn't recognize, looked over the desk at him.  "That
    depends on who you are right now, Seeker Turnbull.  Are you the Seeker,
    or are you the Constable?" 
    
    "We're the same person, Watcher," he answered, insulted by the question
    and the tone.  As if one persona was more valuable than the other. 
    
    "Well, let's just say you're here for your own good.  We wouldn't want
    a Rachel Seeker to get injured trying to help a bunch of low-lifes that
    don't deserve -" 
    
    "Do not take that tone of voice with me, Watcher Winslow," Constable
    Renfield Turnbull snapped.  This arrogant woman needed badly to be reminded
    of her place.  "I am not a 'Rachel Seeker.'  That is an insult to my
    house and to every house of Seekers.  And as for those 'low-lifes,' I
    can only assume you're talking about my friends.  Remember in the scheme
    of things, Watcher, you only got this position by selling out people
    that trusted you and now you work in clandestine operations that skirt
    the laws of two countries.  I can trace my lineage in an unbroken line
    all the way to Rachel, wife of Jacob, mother of Joseph and Benjamin.
    Do you know who your great-grandparents were?" 
    
    Intimidated, resentful silence was his only answer. 
    
    "Choose your words with more care, Winslow." 
    
    *** 
     
    Vecchio sat in the waiting room, waiting for the doctors to get done
    with Dief. The wolfkid had called him at 3 in the morning, whimpering
    and growling. Apparently it had taken Dief some time to hit the right
    buttons.  He had broken ribs, a concussion, some internal injuries. 
    The doctors and vets assured them he would be fine with treatment. Now
    the baby was beside him, being rocked by Ma. They'd come to the apartment
    and found it torn apart, blood stains on the walls and floor, bullet
    holes in the woodwork. No one there except the child, Guess and Dief,
    and it was clear no forensic team had responded. 
    
    Vecchio glanced up as Welsh entered. "Well?" 
    
    "They found a body a couple blocks away from the apartment. Stake in
    the heart." 
    
    "Vampire?" 
    
    "Human." 
    
    Vecchio paled. "Jesus.  The neighbors said the police responded to the
    apartment.  Why isn't there a record of it?  No unit, no radio transmissions,
    nothing.  Forensics hasn't been there, and they sure as hell didn't sent
    EMS."  
    "I know." 
    
    "What if Cassie hadn't been at Stella's?  She could be dead now, too!"
    
    "Ray.  We need to talk.  Mrs. Vecchio, will you excuse us?" 
    
    Welsh hauled the detective off to the cafeteria for some hours-old coffee.
    When Welsh spoke, his voice was hushed. 
    
    "Listen, Ray, I don't have all the details, but this is big and getting
    bigger by the minute.  We're not talking the regular police.  The Watchers
    have taken a really close interest in your friend Grissom.  They have
    their claws into Fraser, and they've been after me and Frobisher to find
    out why one of their most valuable Slayers is hanging out with a pack
    of get and a ghoulite." 
    
    "What did you tell them?" 
    
    "That they're his friends.  They got a laugh out of that.  Apparently,
    Fraser is breaking all the unwritten rules of being a Mounted Slayer
    and they are not happy." 
    
    "What the hell can we do?" 
    
    "What can /you/ do, Vecchio?" 
    
    "What?" 
    
    "The Watchers have had their eye on you for a while.  They've been after
    me to push you towards it.  They'll be coming soon." 
    
    "You want me inside." 
    
    "They're up to something they shouldn't be.  I won't get any closer than
    I am now.  They don't trust me and they won't trust you yet, but our
    boys may need help." 
    
    "Gotcha." 
    
    *** 
    
    Tom blinked rapidly. A new cover was on the ceiling. Metal this time.
    That'd be harder to get through. He sighed, rolling to his knees. His
    stomach still ached, and his head was pounding. A bottle of water was
    by his feet. He popped the top off it, and gave it a sniff. 
    
    "Drugged." He tossed it aside, shaking his head. He sighed, sitting back
    on the wall. The bodies had been left behind. It was gonna get crowded
    in here pretty quick. 
    
    He eyed the Repulsor's body, biting his lip. 
    
    *** 
    
    Winslow shuddered, staring at the video monitor. "Apparently removing
    the child didn't remove the disgusting food appetite." 
    
    Turnbull stared at her. "You removed it? Are you insane, or just stupid?
    You probably threw his entire body out of whack..." 
    
    "We wanted to test him in as adverse conditions as possible." 
    
    "Where is the child?" 
    
    "It's not a child, Seeker.  Trust me on that one." 
    
    "What makes you people think you have the right to do this to these men?"
    
    "One is born, one was bred.  We need to see which is superior." 
    
    "To what end?" 
    
    "Our own end.  I understand you underwent a Cruciamentum." 
    
    "Twice.  In Saskatoon.  I slew the Chief Watcher." 
    
    "That was you?"  She blanched. 
    
    "Remember that, Winslow. If the born slayer's as powerful as he looks,
    he won't hesitate to do the same." 
    
    *** 
    
    He did not want to be here, doing this.  It was wrong.  Immoral.  Slaying
    demons was one thing.  These beings had been incarcerated to pay for
    their crimes, not to be slaughtered in a perverted, sadistic test that
    proved...nothing. 
    
    He was in a pit, waiting.  It was a circular room with a high ceiling
    that housed a trap door.  Tom must have been put into something similar.
    What had they done to Ray?  And Dief?  Why were they doing this?  He
    knew what he was, though he had never told anyone, not even Ray.  He
    was a Breed, a Slayer born of Slayers born of Slayers and so on for untold
    generations.  A sleeping giant.  The ability lay dormant in his blood
    and so had been carefully preserved even as he had been taught to fight
    and destroy like few others.  He waited, his hand sweaty around the stake
    they had given him. 
    
    Then it started.  Three enthos demons dropped into the room. 
    
    They saw him, fooled by the guards' promise of freedom if they killed
    this human. 
    
    They had no idea of what they were up against. 
    
    Benton Fraser, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Slayers, taught them the
    futility of their hopes. 
    
    *** 
    
    Turnbull crossed his arms, tilting his head as he watched the slayer
    born toss the Filtha Demon's bones into the wall. They embedded easily.
    What was he.... 
    
    Suddenly Turnbull suppressed a smile. Very ambitious. Very smart. Filtha
    demon bones were very strong. It would seem the Slayer born was building
    a ladder. 
    
    Winslow sat back, regarding Fraser's progress with some disdain. "He's
    good. But it's not enough..." She tapped her fingers against her lips.
    "Prepare the Sabbat." She called to one of her lackeys. "Medicate him
    into a frenzy. And send Grissom the Order of D'Hoffren." 
    
    "They'll kill him." 
    
    "Another will be called." 
    
    *** 
    
    Tom jumped to his feet as three demonic looking vampires were dropped
    in. Malkavian. "Pretty Slayer..."                                  
    
    "Pretty whore." 
    
    "Dead whore." 
    
    They circled him, and he turned slowly. He gripped the Filtha bone in
    his hand, using it as a stake as the vampires attacked. One by one he
    slayed them, until.... 
    
    He felt a sharp pain at his stomach. He cried out as the knifegrazed
    his stomach. He knocked it away with a shaking hand. His other  hand
    came back with blood and he lashed out with the makeshift stake. 
    
    The last vampire went down. 
    
    And then he did too. 
    
    *** 
    
    "Now.  Send The Order of Taraka." 
    
    "You're insane." 
     
    "It's high time he got a little mad..." 
        
    *** 
     
    He swung, feeling cold blood spurt up from the wound in the vampire's
    belly.  He had given up trying to reason with them.  None of them would
    have it.  They attacked despite his words and he had the lacerations
    to prove it.  He'd lost count after the tenth demon fell.  At least twice
    that again littered the floor around him with their corpses and blood.
    
    A werewolf, artificially forced into human mode.  She leaped from the
    ceiling.  Numb with exhaustion, Fraser seized her, trying not to think
    of Diefenbaker as he wrapped her in a headlock, yanking her head back.
    A disgusting snap and she was limp in his arms.  Regretfully, he put
    her down, looking up at the cameras he knew were watching him. 
    
    "Enough!" he shouted. 
    
    *** 
    
    The Chief Watcher smiled.  "Not by a long shot, Constable.  Send in the
    Spiritus Sanctii." 
    
    *** 
    
    "They're coming for us, Prince Kowalski." 
    
    Unable to open his eyes, Ray nodded, shifting off of Calhoun.  "They
    must still be alive, if we are." 
    
    "My Prince?" 
    
    "Yeah, Cal?" 
    
    He could feel the vampire lean close to speak to him.  "Stay alive. 
    We will escape here.  And I will make every one of them pay for what
    they've done today." 
    
    "Sounds like a plan." 
    
    "Step away from the ghoulite, Sabbat!" ordered a new voice.  "Step away,
    or I'll kill him!" 
    
    "Shouldn't that be slay?" mocked Calhoun, moving away from Kowalski.
    
    "You! Ghoulite! Step to the front of the cell." 
    
    "Five steps to your right, Ray," provided the vampire. He resisted the
    urge to help. 
    
    He turned, one hand reaching out for the door of the cell.  He heard
    it open and rough hands seized him and yanked him out and to the floor.
    There was a crushing weight on his back as a guard pinned him, then cuffed
    his arms behind him.  Behind him, he heard Calhoun's voice raise in indignation
    at such brutal treatment, then...nothing. 
    
    ***
    
    Tom was slumping against the wall when they were dropped in. The Order
    of Taraka. They stared at him, then at each other. Snakily, the one who
    appeared to be composed of maggots, grabbed Tom as he fell. Tom suppressed
    a shudder. 
    
    "He's injured."
    
    "He's a Slayer."
    
    "Dishonorable."
    
    "There's no honor at all in the kill."
    
    "We refuse."
    
    "Refuse."
    
    "Refuse..."
    
    ***
    
    Winslow glared at the monitor. "Kill them. Useless demons anyway." 
    
    Turnbull stared in horror, "He's injured. He cannot fight much longer."
    
    "Then he'll die." She turned to her lackey again. "Is the Sabbat prepared?"
    
    "Yes."
    
    "Send him down."
    
    ***
    
    Vecchio swiped the e card Welsh had given him through the card lock.
    He nodded to a watcher guard as he was escorted through the compound.
    He was being brought to the head honcho, he assumed. Good. Maybe she
    could help. 
    
    ***
    
    The arena was too silent for too long.  There had to be something in
    here with him.  He could neither see nor hear it, but he could sense
    it.  The room was getting colder.  Frost was forming on the corpses,
    turning them white in the faint light.  He thought he saw something,
    a glowing white form like mist, hovering in the air by the wall.  He
    tried to see it, but it flitted away, always in the corner of his vision,
    never to be seen directly. 
    
    A Spiritus Sanctii. 
    
    The name was deceiving.  There was nothing holy nor spiritual about this
    thing.  They were by-products of the Holocaust, collective grief and
    fury so intense, so unrequited that emotional energy had taken form.
    
    "Auschwitz?" wondered Fraser. 
    
    "Dachau," whispered a million voices. 
    
    "Would you kill me?" 
    
    "I would.  I am." 
    
    The ground was frozen.  The air was still and cold.  Fraser knew he would
    freeze to death if he didn't do something fast. 
    
    He had nothing.  A stake.  He had never seen or faced a Spiritus Sanctii
    in his life.  There were not have been more than ten of them in the world.
    Once, there had been twelve on record.  What had become of the other
    two? 
    
    "Do you /want/ to kill me?" 
    
    "It is what I am, Slayer." 
    
    "Two of your number are gone," he called into the darkness, feeling the
    cold press closer.  "Would you join them?" 
    
    "I would." 
    
    "Tell me how." 
    
    "Destroy this form." 
    
    "How?" 
    
    "We are trapped in the physical world.  Caught in our own maelstrom.
    Shatter this being." 
    
    He tried, but he could not focus on the pearly form.  A thought struck
    him.  He had slain an enthos demon.  They were notoriously compact of
    body.  Like rocks.  He  kicked a corpse off the demon's body, dragging
    it out to a free space on the floor. 
    
    "Freeze this, Spiritus." 
    
    **** 
    
    "He's working with the damned thing!" cursed Winslow. 
    
    "That's exactly what it is.  He's freeing it." 
    
    "He can't!" 
    
    Turnbull cocked his head.  "This doesn't fit into your test?" 
    
    "Damnit, we have to stop him!"  She hit a button on the desk.  "Send
    in a guard to watch the Seeker.  We've got a problem!" 
    
    *** 
    
    Calhoun landed on his knees, struggling to remove the ropes binding his
    him. He mind was full of frenzy. The entire room smelled of blood. Reeked
    of it. Eyes glowing, he glared up at the lone creature in the room. Focused
    on him. 
    
    Tom stared at him, shaking. The adrenaline rush was great. He gasped,
    painfully as James rushed him, shoving him to the floor. Hands went to
    his neck. Squeezing. 
    
    He couldn't fight. Didn't want to fight. 
    
    ***
    
    Winslow slung the stun gun over her shoulder, aiming it at the constable
    through the grating. Suddenly she heard shouting from her office, and
    turned back. "What's going on?" 
    
    "The Sabbat. He's killing him," called the young man assigned to guard
    the Seeker.  He pointed at the screens.  
    Winslow glowered.  "Your point?" 
        
    "We have no idea who will activate, we..." 
    
    "I know who..." She glanced at the Slayer on the monitor.  "I'll be right
    back." 
    
    *** 
    
    "Sharpe!  The Slayer!  He is not to free the Spiritus Sanctii!" 
    
    "Yes, Ma'am!  We'll recall it immediately." 
    
    If he had simply tried to kill it, he would have failed and died.  Somehow,
    he had called their bluff. 
    
    "Recall it.  Send in more demons.  Let's make this interesting.  I want
    another eight or nine Class A's in rapid succession.  Then put Kowalski
    in there when Fraser is good and riled." 
    
    "Yes, Ma'am!" 
    
    She smiled.  /This is our game, Constable, not yours./ 
    
    ***
    
    Tom's hands flew up, trying to loosen James' grip around his throat.
    "James...ple..." He gasped, sparks flying in his vision. his heart was
    beating way too fast. He could hear it pounding, drum like, in his ears.
    
    Calhoun squeezed harder. He could feel Tom gasping for breath underneath
    him, had to fight to ignore it, not to look at the betrayal in his lover's
    dark eyes.    He would not have been able to go on if he saw Tom's face.
    
    Tom's vision darkened, his fingers wouldn't tighten around James' arms.
    "Please stop...J..." Tighter grip. He couldn't get in any air now. 
    
    James felt weakened hands pull at his arms as he whispered an agonized
    mantra to the dying man even as his mind screamed a prayer to a god he
    could no longer claim as his own. "Shhh...I love you. I love you. This
    will make them stop. I love you..." 
    
    Tom went limp beneath him, and he sagged on top of the dead slayer. 
    
    Then he threw his head back and screamed in anguish too great to be borne.
    
    *** 
    
    Relative warmth returned.  Somehow, they had snatched the tragic Spiritus
    Sanctii away before he could try to free it.  Millions of souls would
    go on in pain.  He couldn't understand what point it served to enslave
    such an unfortunate creature. 
    
    Suddenly an Ubel demon, all darkness and wings and claws, erupted from
    the midst of the heap of corpses.  Shattered limbs and rotting vampire
    flesh scattered across the arena.  With nothing more than the stake they
    had allowed him, Fraser lunged. 
    
    Fraser froze mid fight. He felt a sudden rush of power in him, and began
    fighting with renewed strength. Had he been drugged? Or was it something
    else? Something he didn't want to even think about. 
    
    The Ubel howled in disbelief and fury as it died.  Fraser blinked.  He
    had no idea how he had managed to slaughter a demon twice his size. 
    He darted out of the way as it's bat-like wings lashed out, only to turn
    and find himself faced by two enthos demons. 
    
    They glared. 
    
    Fraser smiled. 
    
    And fought on. 
    
    *** 
    
    Turnbull shoved past the boy guarding him, running towards the arena
    they were keeping Tom and Calhoun. He passed by Vecchio enroute and without
    skipping a beat, seized him by the arm and pulled him along. "He's killed
    him. I think he's killed him." 
    
    "Who killed who?" 
    
    "Calhoun killed Tom!  Come on!  We've got to get down there!" 
    
    The grating was off the pit. Apparently the Watchers had decided a dead
    Slayer was not a threat. The Seeker savagely shoved his way through the
    ring of guards, backfisting one man that refused to move out of his way.
    After that, they offered no resistance.  They knew who and what this
    Mountie was and no one dared raise a hand to him.  Vecchio was right
    on his heels, getting in a few shoves of his own. 
    
    Turnbull stood at the lip of the opening.  All was dark and stank of
    death within.  "Calhoun!" he yelled into the blackness. 
    
    Suddenly a clawed hand appeared from the pit and slammed into the concrete
    floor, shattering the ground at the Seeker's feet. Turnbull grabbed,
    yanking Calhoun up with Vecchio's help. "What have you done?" 
    
    He stared at the limp body over Calhoun's shoulder. 
    
    "Bought us some time." Calhoun said, cryptically. "You know CPR?" 
    
    Without a word, Turnbull set to work with Vecchio at his side.  Calhoun
    stood guard above them, his blood running hot and furious at the people
    that had forced him to kill the one thing in this world he loved. 
    
    **** 
    
    As a general rule, Ray Kowalski was blind as a bat.  After having been
    bit by Marcus Ellery, his vision had become increasingly sensitive until
    he had to wear tinted glasses even at night.  Right now, he couldn't
    even open his eyes and even if he did, he knew he would see nothing.
    So he waited, not moving in the unfamiliar room they shoved him in. 
    He was glad of the coat Calhoun had given him.  It was freezing in here.
    
    A scream of pure, animal fury and grief wrent the air.  Even muffled
    and far away, it made Kowalski's skin crawl.  Something terrible had
    happened.  Fraser? Or Tom? 
    
    Someone entered the room, moving to stand beside him.  He didn't even
    turn in their direction.  He was helpless, why prove it? 
    
    A hand gripped his hair, yanking his head to the side to expose the bite
    marks. 
    
    "You fucking bastard!" exclaimed a woman. 
    
    "Beat ya at yer own game, huh?" he couldn't resist asking. 
    
    "You gave him the blood of the ancients!  No wonder Grissom couldn't
    kill him!" 
    
    Ray snickered.  "Sounds like ya don't appreciate people takin' their
    own fates into their hands." 
    
    "Hold him." 
    
    More hands.  Kowalski was shoved onto the floor with such force it knocked
    the wind out of him.  He struggled as he felt a needle penetrate his
    neck. 
    
    "Don't worry, Prince Kowalski," purred the woman.  "This is just in return
    for giving the Sabbat your blood.  It's just going to shut you up for
    a little while." 
    
    He felt a burning, a constriction of his throat.  He tried to scream,
    and found he couldn't.  His voice was gone. 
    
    The woman's voice was smug.  "You're up, ghoulite." 
    
    *** 
    
    Tom lay on the floor, coughing hard. "Oh God...why..." He stared up at
    the three men hovering over him. "James..." 
    
    "They wouldn't stop unless one of us died. We can bring you back." He
    stroked Tom's hair back, trying to ignore the demon blood splattered
    on Tom's clothes. 
    
    "You don't realise what you've done, do you?" He squirmed. "Oh God..."
    Even the slayer blood in him was boiling, someone had been called. Three
    Slayers. Maybe more. Medical technology had done much to increase the
    lives of Slayers. There was no telling how many resurrections there might
    have been. "Fuck!" 
    
    Calhoun flinched, not exactly sure what Tom was mad about, since he seemed
    not to harbor any anger to the actual death. "Tom?" 
    
    "When a Slayer dies, another is called. That happened once already with
    that girl in California. Do you /realise/ what you've done?" 
    
    Turnbull thought back to what had happened in the office, and paled.
    "Fraser." 
    
    *** 
    
    Ray tried to scream as the stake narrowly missed him. What was Fraser
    doing? Why? couldn't he see what he was doing? The arena was pitch black
    and he could see perfectly well.  It was Fraser who was blind now, running
    on his other senses that had been honed by a lifetime of training and...breeding.
    
    And he was fucking trying to kill Ray Kowalski. 
    
    He tried, but could not speak.  Whatever they had injected him with robbed
    him of his voice.  He tried to dodge the stake Fraser wielded, but his
    Mountie seemed possessed and he was much better at this than Ray ever
    wanted to be. 
    
    The Slayer's big hand clamped down on his forearm, yanking him foreward.
    
    A silent scream escaped Ray as the stake was buried in his left shoulder.
    He couldn't begin to describe or understand the pain.  He fell to the
    floor, Fraser's weight suddenly heavy upon him as the Slayer's hands
    grouped for the stake. 
    
    Ray reached for Fraser's hand that wrapped around the wooden spike, wanting
    to touch his lover one last time before he died.  Perhaps now he would
    pass over completely... 
    
    *** 
    
    This last one was strange.  He knew the smell but could not categorize
    it to his own satisfaction.  Not demon.  Not vampire.  Maybe not even
    undead.  What was it?  It moved swiftly and silently, and when he finally
    seized upon it, it had a leathery hide. 
    
    He drove his stake in deep, feeling warm blood that smelt like copper
    and vinegar.  Why didn't it fight back?  He could hear it breathing heavily,
    smell it's pain and fear.  What was it? 
    
    Still alive, it fell and he pounced atop it, ready to impale this thing
    and move on to the next.  He would empty Hell if he could.  Empty it
    of even the Watchers... 
    
     Fraser froze for the second time that day. That touch.  He knew that
    hand.  Those long, elegant fingers he had so often admired.  "Ray..."
    His voice was weak. Tired. "Oh...no..."  
    
    The hand traced up his arm, touching his cheek, brushing his lips lightly
    and delicately.  Fraser had no words for this moment: the shock, the
    horror, the relief. 
    
    "Ray?  Ray?  Please, speak to me!  Ray?" 
    
    Silence.  He shifted off his lover and wrapped his arms around that slight
    frame.  Now he knew the smell.  Ray's weird combination of living and
    undead, Calhoun's leather jacket. 
    
    "What did they do to you?" 
    
    He felt Ray shake his head.  The American was trembling in his grasp.
    
    Suddenly light flooded the room from above.  Ray writhed, hiding his
    face against Fraser's chest as the Mountie squinted up at the opening.
    
    Another demon of a type he did not recognize.  This one was tiny, winged,
    it's color that of rotting flesh.  It hissed, and the Slayer knew he
    faced a creature of pure malice and evil.  Fraser looked down at Ray,
    his fingers wrapping around the stake.  Without opening his eyes, Kowalski
    just nodded, tensing.  Fraser yanked the wooden shaft free on one motion,
    his heart breaking as Ray tried to scream but could not. 
    
    Completely unafraid, he rose to face the demon, knowing that for Ray's
    sake he could not lose this battle. 
        
    *** 
     
    "Don't be mad at Jamey, Tom," Turnbull breathed.  "He did it to save
    you." 
    
    "I'm not mad at James, I'm mad at the situation," panted Grissom.  "I
    know what James did and why.  It was a brilliant move on his part." The
    sarcasm all but dripped into puddles on the floor.  "But Fraser is too
    close.  He'll be activated.  He'll be a Slayer Born and Bred!" 
    
    To Tom's surprise, Turnbull smiled.  "Precisely." 
    
    They stared at the Seeker, the implications dawning on all of them. 
    
    It was Calhoun who broke their silence.  "They are so fucked." 
    
    ***
    
    Ray stared as Fraser fought the demon thing. It couldn't be more than
    a child. What would a child be doing in Hell? Suddenly it dawned on him.
    Tom. They'd removed the demon from Tom. 
    
    /Oh my God./ He closed his eyes. The Wyrm. No. 
    
    *** 
    
    Tom followed Turnbull into the office, stunned to see Winslow actually
    there. "My child. Where is he?" He demanded, grabbing her by the shoulders.
    
    "You're alive." She sounded shocked, but quickly composed herself. "Well.
    A surprising turn of events. I assume you had something to do with this,
    Seeker." 
    
    "Well, you know what happens when you assume," Turnbull shot back. He
    glanced at Tom. "What is it?" 
    
    Tom was staring at the monitor, watching the fight in the other arena.
    Fraser was pitted against a creature like nothing Tom had ever seen.
    He knew it instinctively. 
    
    She nodded to him. "The Wyrm Child. Adolph." 
    
    "No." He shook his head.  "What the hell have you done?" 
    
    He grabbed her by the arm, almost dragging her over the desk.  Then he
    ran back out and towards the pit, pulling Winslow with him. She was unable
    to loosen his hold. 
        
    Turnbull stared at the monitor. "Oh..." 
    
    *** 
    
    Calhoun helped Vecchio pry the cover off of the second arena, hearing
    the hissing of whatever demon the constable was fighting, loud and clear.
    
    "What the hell is that thing?" wondered Vecchio. 
    
    "I don't think we want to find out," muttered the Sabbat.  He cautiously
    leaned over the hole.  "Fraser!  Prince Kowalski!" 
    
    He listened.  He could hear them breathing.  Kowalski was bleeding. 
    Badly.  Fraser was in a state beyond reason.  He was also hampered by
    having to defend the American. 
    
    "I'm going down there." 
    
    "Are you nuts?" 
    
    "Prince Kowalski is injured." 
    
    "And you look like crap, Calhoun!" 
    
    "I'm not done yet.  Or would you rather go?" 
    
    Vecchio glowered. 
    
    "Get me a stake.  The guards should have some." 
    
    Within a minute Vecchio was handing Calhoun two stakes and blowing on
    knuckles he had scraped in persuading the guards to part with the weapons.
    Calhoun wiped his brow. He was actually sweaty.  Odd. 
    
    They looked up as Tom, dragging Winslow, appeared on the catwalk above.
    At the sight of the Watcher the remaining demons hissed and called from
    their cells in a riot of noise that almost deafened then. A sound drifted
    up from the pit.  Fraser was screaming in fury. 
    
    "No!  James, no!" Tom cried as he saw his vampire lover drop into the
    arena.  He whirled on Winslow.  "You did all of this!  If anything happens
    to any of them, you'll regret it!" 
    
    *** 
    
    He landed in the circle of light and immediately dove for cover.  The
    room was filled with corpses of the undead and the demonic.  Like Tom,
    Fraser had risen to his calling.  It was carnage. 
    
    He spotted  Fraser immediately.  The Mountie was fending off the small
    demon as he stood over Kowalski.  Clearly the detective was injured and
    the demon was pressing his advantage. 
    
    He ran, unable to achieve his usual speed. Perhaps the tranquilizers...
    
    He snatched Kowalski up from the bloody floor even as he tossed the stakes
    to the Slayer.  Fraser had the same determined look Tom had worn, only
    instead of insanity, there was the light of knowledge in his eyes.  Kowalski
    was light.  Too light.  Calhoun frowned in disapproval.  No way in hell
    this man was healthy.  He darted back to the opening. 
    
    "Move!" he shouted at Vecchio as the detective leaned over the hole.
    He tensed, crouching, and leaped. 
    
    He wouldn't have made it if Tom and Vecchio hadn't helped.  Vecchio immediately
    pulled Kowalski free as Tom examined James for any injuries. 
    
    "Are you-" 
    
    A scream echoed up from below.  This time it wasn't Fraser.  Tom blanched.
    
    "Benny!" shouted Vecchio.  He leaned far into the pit.  With a muffled
    curse, Calhoun scrambled to join him and Tom braced their legs.  Fraser
    was running across the arena while behind him the demon fluttered and
    struggled to fly. 
    
    "I can't reach!" shouted Fraser after several tries to grab their hands.
    
    "Use your tunic!" ordered Vecchio. 
    
    He ripped the red coat from his back and swung it up to them.  They gripped
    it and held tight. 
    
    "Climb!" 
    
    It was the longest minute of Vecchio's life.  Watching Stan get attacked
    by a dozen Gangrel paled by comparison as Benton Fraser climbed hand
    over hand until Calhoun grasped his arm. 
    
    "Keep going," he whispered. 
    
    Abruptly, the Mountie's considerable weight vanished and they were yanked
    back to see - Turnbull. 
    
    The Seeker smiled.  "I strongly suggest you cover that pit again." 
    
    "No." Tom grabbed Winslow again, "You named him after a Malkavian..."
    He took a step towards her, forcing her back. "You put my /child/ in
    a demon pit, and forced my /friend/ to try and kill him..." 
        
    "Slayer, he is not a child. He's Wyrm. He's..." 
    
    "Slayer...that's right. I am. I do /not/ answer to you, do I? No real
    Slayer does..." He sniffed. "Slayer...hm....slay her..." He shoved her.
    Hard. She fell down the pit, landing on her back. He watched as Adolph
    sniffed at her in wonderment. 
    
    Calhoun gasped as Tom jumped down into the pit, landing on his hands
    and knees. "Tom?" In light of new revelations, he was still shocked by
    Tom's behavior. He'd never expected that. 
    
    "It's all right. He won't hurt me." He watched, oddly affectionate, as
    his Wyrm child tore her apart. Feeling an odd sense of satisfaction.
    He gave a half smile as the demon came towards him, uncertainly. 
    
    A rotting hand went to his face. He clasped it, tightly. "Daddy...?"
    A raspy voice intoned. He squeezed the hand, gently.  "Daddy." 
    
    "Everything's gonna be fine. We'll get out of here. Go home..." He felt
    a deep ache in his stomach. Looked down. Adolph had clawed him. Deep
    and painfully. He stared as blood soaked the borrowed sweatshirt quickly.
    He wouldn't look up. Couldn't look up. 
    
    Fingers pulled at his chin. His eyes met Adolph's, shaking. Blurred.
    "No..." Claws at his jawline. The demon could take his head off if he
    liked. "No." 
    
    He met the demon's eyes.  Ray Kowalski could have told him they matched
    the Wyrm's eyes perfectly.  Evil, cold, sadistic.  Tom felt his heart
    skip a beat.  His child. 
    
    "Not. Yours." Adolph's voice was full of hate.  "Not. Yours. Slayer."
    
    He raised his hand to kill his father... 
    
    Suddenly the demon was smashed backwards, a stake protruding from his
    side.  Tom twisted, looking up.  Fraser stood on the lip of the opening,
    panting.  Tom shook his head, feeling the world end at the loss of his
    third child.  Cassie had been taken, Adam's mind had been destroyed 
    before he had been born, and now Adolph... 
    
    "No," he murmured, drained.  "No..." 
    
    Was he speaking to Fraser or his son? 
    
    The room tilted to the right, and he fell hard. His eyes blurred over
    as he watched his child unsteadily launch into the air and fly off. His
    child. His evil. "No..." 
    
    He heard someone land at his side, and opened his eyes. He didn't remember
    closing them. Turnbull's blurry visage met him gaze. "Tom?" Turnbull's
    voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel. "Tom, can you hear
    me?" 
    
    "Son...my son..." He gasped, painfully. He lifted a bloody hand, staring
    at it. Watching it shake. "Ow..." A cold hand touched his face. "Why?
    Why....?" 
    
    Silence from Turnbull, and then. "The paramedics are on their way." 
    
    "Mine..." 
    
    /Not. Yours. Slayer./ 
    
    *** 
    
    The stake had gone through clean. Fraser sighed with relief when he'd
    heard that. He didn't think he could handle it if he'd hurt Ray. Mina
    gave him a kind smile, squeezing his own shoulder and heading into the
    next room to check on Tom. 
    
    Fraser frowned as he thought about the Slayer in the next room over.
    Life had not been kind to him, and didn't look like it intended to be
    any time soon. He shook those thoughts out of his head, and leaned forward
    to brush his lips against Ray's clammy forehead.  His partner had not
    spoken nor regained consciousness since he'd collapsed in the arena and
    despite the blood tests, Fraser quietly feared there may have been more
    to the drug Winslow had given him than just robbing him of his voice.
    He had noticed the fresh scabs on Ray's neck and knew he had let Calhoun
    take the blood of Caine.  What did this make Calhoun now?  
    Alone with the sleeping man, Fraser clasped his hand where it lay atop
    the blankets, never wanting to let go.  He needed to talk with his father
    and Frobisher to understand fully what had happened to him.  He knew
    he was changed.  He knew he was now Born and Bred.  He just needed to
    know what it meant. 
    
    Ray stirred, his legs shifting and his hand wrapping around Fraser's
    familiar one as he roused out of the drugged stupor.  Fraser bent over
    him as Ray's chapped lips formed a word. 
    
    "'ey," he rasped softly. "Dere ya are.  Lost ya." 
    
    Fraser smiled, stroking his hair.  "I was stolen," he corrected. "Again."
    
    "Y'okay?" 
    
    Fraser nodded.  "And you?" 
    
    "Sleep...y."  He drifted off again. Fraser sat down, a mighty weight
    lifted from his shoulders. 
    
    *** 
    
    Not far away, in another room, a similar vigil was being held by James
    Calhoun as he, too, waited for his lover to wake.  The lacerations inflicted
    by Adolph had been deep but clean and required only stitches.  Mina was
    more worried about the damage to the birthing pouch. Adolph's lacerations
    were meticulous. He'd been trying to tear it out. Only Fraser's quick
    thinking had stopped him.  
    Calhoun feared far more the impact of what the demon child lashing out
    to injure him, then abandoning him, would do to Tom.  All his children
    had been taken from him, one way or another, and that levelled a heavy
    toll on the Slayer. 
    
    He looked up as Cassie entered the room, carrying Adam.  to Calhoun's
    surprise, he could barely focus his eyes on the dark-haired teenager.
    
    "How's dad?" she asked. He wondered how much she knew about her father's
    Slayer abilities. How much she believed. 
    
    "He'll be fine.  He should wake up soon.  How are you?" 
    
    "Ma Vecchio is the coolest.  Frannie took me shopping the other day and
    we got all these clothes and make-up and stuff.  It was fun.  And Stella
    and Irene took me out to lunch yesterday to this cafe for demons."  She
    smiled up at him.  "I'm really glad you came and got me, Jamey." 
    
    He smiled.  "So am I." 
    
    "Hey, can you watch Adam for a sec?  I have /got/ to go use the ladies
    room and Ray said Ben is here." 
    
    "Yeah," he replied, tired.  "Did he bring Dief?" 
    
    "Uh-huh.  His tail is gone now and he keeps leaving the water running."
    
    He took the warm bundle from her arms and watched as she hurried out.
    Looking down at the dark-haired baby, Calhoun addressed him directly.
    "My Lord, I understand why you did not wish to go near Tom these past
    few weeks.  But he desperately needs you now.  The child was...was of
    Wyrm, forcefully torn from him by the Watchers in Hell. Please don't
    turn from him, Lord Caine." 
    
    The large, dark eyes regarded him knowingly and Calhoun felt a sense
    of relief.  He leaned over the bed, balancing Caine as he gently shook
    Tom's shoulder. 
    
    "Tom?  Tom, wake up.  It's time to wake up.  Cassie and...Adam are here.
    Tom?" 
    
    The psychic roused sleepily, his memory fogged by the drugs he'd been
    given.  James looked tired.  Worn.  He needed to rest.  What had he said?
    
    With a smile, the vampire unwrapped the blanket from Caine and gently
    placed the weeks-old baby on Tom's chest.  Able to lift his head already,
    Caine gazed at his father and smiled, talking nonsense that brought a
    glow to Tom's expression. 
    
    Cassie returned, full of excited talk and news about life in Chicago.
    Tom happily listened to her prattle on about clothes and the room she
    had at the Vecchio's.  Calhoun slowly made his way to the door.  He wanted
    to be far away from Tom before he collapsed. 
    
    He only made it as far as the stairs. 
    
    *** 
    
    Harding Welsh was an angry man. 
    
    The Watchers in Hell had broken every rule in the book.  Not since Saskatoon
    had a Cruciamentum been performed, and the forced emergence of Turnbull
    as a Seeker had come about with a heavy, though on Turnbull's part, justified,
    price. 
    
    Now they had messed with something that never should have been touched.
    Tom Grissom was a Slayer born - a /male/ Slayer born, no less.  They
    were unheard of, just as Seekers were /never/ female, even though the
    four houses were matriarchal.  Still, the Watchers should not have initiated
    a Cruciamentum. There was no reason to test these men. Grissom had undergone
    his mandatory testing at the age of 18, after three years as a slayer.
    And now, Grissom would not be controlled by the Watchers and now Fraser...Fraser
    was something entirely new and inexplicable. 
    
    Born and Bred he was.  Welsh sat in his office, waiting for Vecchio to
    come to work, trying to fathom what this meant.  They had been breeding
    and training Slayers in the hopes of not only keeping The Slayer Born
    alive past their eighteenth birthday, but keeping them sane at the same
    time.  The program, though limited, had been successful.  Too successful
    now, it appeared.  What would Fraser be?  The uncontrolled, uncaring
    killing machine that Grissom was, or would he keep his newly-freed instincts
    in check? 
    
    Was it too early to call Frobisher?  Welsh didn't care.  He picked up
    the phone and dialed, knowing the Mountie would be as furious as he over
    what had been done to their boys.  
    
    *** 
    
    Dief stared at the cold packmate lying by the stairs, a nervous growl
    rising in his throat.  He spotted one of the females in the strange clothes
    that tended the humans here and pulled her over, anxious for her to help
    the cold one. 
    
    Poison. A mild one. He'd climbed the Filtha ladder Tom had made in his
    pit, not realising that it was poison to vampires. He's be sick for a
    few days, with flu-like symptoms.  Unused to being sick, Calhoun was
    miserable beyond telling and seemed determined to share his misery with
    the world at large. 
    
    *** 
    
    Tom felt Cassie touch his face, gently. "Daddy?" She whispered, gently.
    He suddenly froze in fear. Fear. Afraid of his own children. "Daddy,
    who did this?" Her voice was gentle, like his father's. Caring. He closed
    his eyes, not wanting to answer her. "Who hurt you, daddy?" 
    
    "Your brother," he whispered back, smiling oddly. 
    
    "Adam?" She sounded perplexed. He shook his head. 
    
    "No...Adolph...a Wyrm..." He opened his eyes, stung by the horror he
    saw in her own. He gave an oof as he suddenly found her hugging him tightly,
    Adam gently cradled in his arms. "Cass..." 
    
    She suddenly gave a strange laugh. "Grandma would know what to do. One
    thing she was good at was stuff like this." 
    
    Tom nodded, hugging his daughter closer for a minute before letting her
    go. Then he said the one thing he /knew/ he was going to regret later
    on. "Call her?" 
    
    "You want me to call her." 
    
    "Yeah. Please." 
    
    She nodded, quickly. "Ok. I'll go borrow Ray's phone." 
    
    He deflated as she left, holding Adam closer. For the moment, not a Slayer.
    Not Calhoun's lover. Just an ex cop who wanted his mother. No matter
    what. 
    
    *** 
    
    Cassie dialed the cellphone, sitting beside Vecchio in the hallway. "Grandma?"
    She whispered, when the woman answered her phone. 
    
    "Cass...Cassie?" Heller was stunned. She had been sure she'd never hear
    from her granddaughter again. "What's the matter? Ready to come home?"
    
    "No. Hold on, ok?" Lead by Vecchio, she went back into her father's room,
    handing him the phone. Vecchio took Adam, sitting in a chair by the bed.
    He didn't know the story behind what had happened with Tom and his mother,
    but it couldn't have been good. 
    
    "Mom?" Tom's voice was throaty, tired. 
    
    A long pause. He was sure she'd hung up. Then: "What happened? Are you
    all right?"  
    
    "I'm in the hospital."  He took a deep breath.  "A lot has happened."
    
    Her voice was cool.  "Are you still shacked up with that bastard?" 
    
    Tom closed his eyes, wondering why everyone insisted on calling James
    by that name.  "Mom, I'm not calling to discuss James or apologise for
    whatever he did to you.  I need help." 
    
    "He tied her up," Cassie whispered to Vecchio, delighted at the memory.
    "Grandma's a real witch sometimes." 
    
    "What do you need, Tom?" 
    
    "In the past two months I've delivered two sons." 
    
    "Together?" 
    
    "No.  Two separate occurrences.  The second was the day before yesterday."
    
    She was quiet.  "That's too close together, Tom.  Cecil?" 
    
    "The first one." 
    
    "The second?" 
    
    "Wyrm." 
    
    "What?"  Her voice was shocked.  Disbelieving. 
    
    "Wyrm.  The child is gone.  He attacked me and left.  Mom, I know what
    you did to Dad." 
    
    Silence.  Lauren Heller hand been found out. 
    
    "Mom?" 
    
    "Yes, Tom?" 
    
    "Listen, I don't want to get into why you did that right now.  I've got
    enough on my plate.  I just need to know how to get him back.  Please."
    
    More silence.  Then she said, "Got a pen?" 
    
    *** 
    
    "Frase?" 
    
    At Ray's hoarse voice, Benton Fraser roused, leaning foreward in his
    chair beside the hospital bed. 
    
    "Yes, Ray?" 
    
    "Can we go home?" 
    
    He smiled warmly, knowing the full meaning of that question.  Ray was
    feeling better.  "Let's." 
    
    Fraser glanced at the door as it opened. Ma entered, pushing a wheelchaired
    Calhoun in it. The Sabbat looked nauseous and exhausted and grumpy as
    all get-out.  
    
    Fraser tried to keep from staring at the strange picture the little Italian
    woman and the cranky vampire made.  "What happened?" 
        
    "Some sort of poisoning. I'm taking him home with us," she said, using
    her 'I'll not take no for an answer' voice. Calhoun, apparently, had
    already given up that particular battle.  "They can't help him here."
    
    Ray looked a bit confused. "Wait...we're going..." 
    
    "Home with us. You need to eat, you look like a rail.  Mrs. Durso asked
    if I don't love you that I don't feed you, Raymond.  You embarrass me."
    
    Calhoun snickered evilly.  Ma Vecchio smacked him and it was Ray's turn
    to laugh. 
        
    *** 
    
    Tom finished writing down his mother's instructions, and handed them
    to Cassie. "Can you go find Turnbull, and please give this to him?" He
    asked, smiling a bit as she left. He frowned as his mother said something.
    "What?" 
    
    "I said, are you all right?" Her sudden concern was surprising. Unexpected.
    Something he hadn't seen since his 18th birthday. Since she'd put him
    through the testing. 
    
    He took a minute to answer. Let her worry. "Not...not really, no." 
    
    More silence. "I'll be there as soon as I can." She hung up before he
    could tell her not to come. 
    
    He blinked, shocked again. He felt Vecchio's eyes on him. 
    
    "What's wrong?" the detective asked, concerned. 
    
    "I don't know." 
    
    *** 
    
    Cecil made his way down the hall, carefully holding on to the wall. Ever
    since Tom had turned the gun on him, resulting in his current condition,
    he'd found it difficult to get around. His parents were ecstatic though.
    
    He found the door to the hospital room and knocked, lightly.  
    
    "Come in," called a voice. 
    
    He entered the sunlit room to find Vecchio sitting with Tom.  Immediately
    intimidated, the demon blushed and looked at the floor, the wall - anywhere
    but at the Chicago Knight that tenderly cradled Adam in his arms even
    as he looked daggers at Cecil. 
    
    "You want something here?" demanded Vecchio. 
    
    "I...I heard Tom was hurt," he stammered.  "I...just wanted to see how
    he's doing." 
    
    "Ray," Tom quietly asked. 
    
    Vecchio rose and returned the baby to his father.  He adjusted his jacket
    and gave Cecil another look, tempted to remind him that the statute of
    limitations never ran out in cases like his.  Instead he said, "I'll
    go check up on Stan." 
    
    "Ray?  Thanks," said Tom quietly. 
    
    "How are you?" asked Cecil when they were alone. 
    
    "I've been better.  How are you?  And the twins?" 
    
    "I'm okay.  My parents are ecstatic.  They didn't think I had it in me."
    He smiled, amused.  "I heard you're expecting again." 
    
    "Not anymore.  I..." 
    
    "I'm sorry." 
    
    "No...it's a long story.  I don't feel like talking about it right now."
    
    "How is Adam?" 
    
    "Want to hold him?" 
    
    Cecil gladly took the child, hesitantly sitting down with his one-time
    lover.  "Um...James won't kill me for sitting with you, will he?" 
    
    "I won't let him." 
    
    "He really does love you, you know.  I know that's odd for a Sabbat..."
    
    "He was Gangrel, then made Autarkis, then became a Sabbat Elder." 
    
    "How very lonely," commented the demon, rocking his son.  "No wonder
    he's so possessive of you." 
    
    Tom stared at him, wondering at the simple comment.  He's never thought
    of James in those terms.  Cecil felt the stare and looked up wonderingly.
    
    "You think he's lonely?" 
    
    The enthos demon blinked.  "Yes.  Or, he was until he met you.  Maybe
    he's just not used to having what he needs.  I've dealt with a lot of
    people like that.  They scare themselves sometimes." Like you, he thought
    to himself. /A lot like you, Tom./ 
    
    "You think he's frightened?" 
    
    "Very." 
    
    "What of?" 
    
    He shrugged.  "Loving you?  Needing you?  Losing you?" 
    
    Tom sighed. "He won't lose me." 
    
    "Do you love him?" 
    
    Tom nodded. "Very much, yes." 
    
    "Maybe he's afraid of becoming what he was." 
    
    Tom looked up, sharply. "What he was?" 
    
    "Before he met you, for a long time he was cruel. A monster. Zuko told
    me he crucified your Mountie friend. Tried to kill Prince Kowalski. He
    was crazed.  Lilith had him right here."  He pressed his thumb to the
    nightstand. 
    
    "I don't care," Tom said, quickly, suddenly wishing Cecil would go away.
    
    "Can you love a man like that?" 
    
    "I loved you." 
    
    "Touche.  You've given him hope, Tom.  Something he hasn't had in over
    a lifetime.  Maybe he's afraid of losing that feeling." He didn't know
    exactly what Tom had been up to his years in Chicago, but he planned
    to find out.  It couldn't have been good. Perhaps Calhoun had given Tom
    hope as well? 
    
    Cecil regarded his former lover, carefully. He touched Tom's stomach
    as gently as possible and tried to assess the damage. "It was forced
    from you." 
    
    "Yeah. Cecil, I said I didn't want to..." 
    
    "Talk. I know. But I also know you." He leaned forward. "I know you'll
    keep it bottled up, and then one day you'll blow. And you'll hurt someone.
    Maybe slay a human." 
    
    "Been there, done that," he whispered. 
    
    Cecil cocked his head. "When?" 
    
    "A Watcher. Two days ago." 
    
    "The Watchers did this to you." His tone was flat. They'd pay for that.
    He'd make sure the House of Noor took care of it. No one hurt the father
    of a Noor Child. No matter what. 
    
    "They removed it, yes." 
    
    The Enthos demon noted the moniker. He hadn't referred to the child as
    a he or a she. Strange. "Then who..." He paused. "The child did this?"
    
    "It's Wyrm." 
    
    "Oh God..." He closed his eyes. Worry didn't begin to describe what he
    was feeling. 
    
    *** 
    
    He had a lot to think about when Cecil finally left.  Tom Grissom sat
    and rocked his son and thought about his lover.  It fit.  He'd seen the
    twisted core that was in James Kilpatrick Calhoun.  He knew what it was
    like to live without hope.  He'd been doing it for years.  James had
    been doing it for over a century. 
    
    He needed to talk to him.  Suddenly it occurred to Tom he had not seen
    James since the morning.  He was about to page the nurse when the phone
    rang.  He lifted it before the noise woke Adam. 
    
    "Hello?" 
    
    "Tom?" asked a weak voice. 
    
    "James?  James, what is it?  What's happened?" 
    
    "...poison...Filtha bones..." 
    
    Tom's heart skipped a beat.  "Oh, my god!  Where are you?  James?"  He
    was panicking, he knew it, and he didn't care. 
    
    Calhoun's voice was slurred.  "They took me..." 
    
    Oh, god, who had him?  Tom had a hideous vision of what his life would
    be without the vampire in it. 
    
    Another voice in the background became clear.  "What are you - give me
    that!" 
    
    Tom was almost weeping, praying whomever had James would talk to him,
    let him know what they wanted.  Oh, god, what if it was the Watchers?
    
    "Yo, Grissom, that you?" 
    
    "What do you want?" he almost yelled, heedless of Adam. 
    
    *** 
    
    As Fraser watched, Ray jumped away from the phone.  Even across the room,
    he could hear Tom's shout. 
    
    "Geez, Grandpa, I just wanted ta let ya know we got yer boyfriend at
    Ma's.  He got some kinda poison and the hospital wouldn't even admit
    him.  Don' worry, he's gonna be okay.  He just wanted ta talk to ya."
    
    He heard a sound as Tom tried to regain some semblance of composure.
    
    "You could have handled that better, Cal!" Ray shook his head, annoyed
    at the suddenly very asleep Sabbat. "Sheesh." 
    
    *** 
    
    


End file.
